I can imagine this place before houses,
Before the sidewalks and busy streets,
With only the prairie grasses blowing
And shadows of the native trees.

I can imagine the drylands shifting,
Changing the course of the river's line,
But how far do I have to go back
To see when you were mine.

I can't imagine a time before music,
A time before physics,
Space without rhyme
Where clouds hang like still life paintings,
But then I have no sense of real time.

I can remember bright super eight movies
Without any sound, and clothes on a line.
I remember this wind always blowing,
But I can't remember when you were mine.

-Jenn